Ellyzabëth Riccardi & the Enchantment of the Hippogriff
by originella
Summary: Ellyzabëth Riccardi thinks she is a normal girl growing up in England. However, after her mother dies under mysterious circumstances, her father decides to bond with her. She soon discovers that her mother was a Pure-Blood witch and her father is a Muggle-Born wizard. In her first year of Hogwarts, she makes friends, is sorted into Gryffindor, and uncovers a long-kept secret.


Chapter One: Against All Odds

Magic had all-but died out of my family—the Riccardis—centuries ago. All it took was for one pure-blood to marry a half-blood, and their offspring half-blood to marry a muggle, and so on and so forth. However, things changed when my Muggle-born father met and married the pure-blood witch Katerina Schriever just one year before my birth, despite meeting initially at Hogwarts many years before that. It was a wonderful union, as far as I can I remember, and my father absolutely doted upon my mother and me. It was just four months after my tenth birthday that my mother suddenly disappeared, and my father and I were told that she was dead and that no questions were to be asked.

The aftermath of the aforementioned death is quite clear to me—the house was stripped of her left-behind possessions and it was as if she'd never existed. Dad made it clear that Mum wasn't to be discussed and I felt saddened that I was not permitted to speak to anyone about her. I tried my best to focus on my studies for the next ten months but to no avail; when the following summer came, Dad decided that we should go to the seashore, and such an opportunity arose to do so when The Ministry of Magic permitted him some leave so as we could have a proper vacation.

Our family was in possession of a lovely white house atop a hill, just above the sea itself, and it was there that we travelled. Dad informed me as we drove along the edge of the cliffs that the area was called Seven Sisters, and that we were in East Sussex, nearly two hours away from our ancestral home in London called Riccardi Royale. Dad made it clear that this time away from London would be the best opportunity to get out of our heads and to get over what had happened to Mum—not an easy pill to swallow for an eleven-year-old girl.

"Lyza, it will be fine," Dad said, reaching over and putting an arm around my neck as we drove, lowering said hand to squeeze my shoulder ever so slightly. "Come now, my girl. Head up. We're passing the coast now."

Dutifully, I raised my head to look upon the brilliant blue water; even though it was mid-August already, the air was warm, so warm that we had the windows down a bit. I reached forward and pressed the automatic button to lower the window further, to take in the sea air into my nostrils. Mum was as fond of sea air as I had been, but to say so would be to go against what Dad wanted, so I kept quiet as we drove along the curved road and begun up the hill to the Schriever Shore, Mum's great-aunt's home, left to us after her Great-Aunt Olga had passed away around age eighty, three years before. Dad easily parked in the squares of grass provided near the front doors and turned off the car before exiting it, heading over to the boot to remove our suitcases—a large one for him and a smaller one for me, plus my carpet bag and his work briefcase, which he always seemed to keep with him for some odd reason. I never questioned much now as I hopped from the car, gripping my carpet bag and taking the keys from Dad and walking over to the door to unlock it. We stepped inside the foyer together and Dad said to be careful as I shut the door behind me before climbing up the spiral staircase separating the bottom floor from the main one; as a very little girl, I'd fallen down those stairs more than once, but, oddly, had never become injured very badly.

When I was around five and it had happened, I'd found myself gripping my leg in pain where I'd fallen, the skin upon my knee cracked and bleeding, the blood seeping through my fingers. I ran my fingers through the blood, and, almost immediately, the wound had healed itself from beneath my hand. Perplexed, I stated I would merely bruise that time around to Mum and Dad, and neither of them had questioned my mishap further. I was doubly careful this time as I climbed the stairs after Dad, and quite soon we'd reached the top and I was told to go to the bedroom in the back—my room.

I unpacked—my folded clothes going into their proper drawers, my books going onto the shelf beside my bed, and my favorite bear lying against the pillows. I walked over to the massive bay windows beside my bed and opened them, savoring the scent of the sea air and marveling at what a beautiful world it was and how fortunate I was to have this lovely home. As the weather was warm, I decided I would like to have a swim, in the part of the coast that was in our backyard, and went into the living room to ask Dad. Unfortunately, he was taking a phone call, but could decipher what it is I wanted based on hand movements and told me to be careful before waving me off.

I return to my bedroom briefly, changing into my swimsuit and pulling a large towel around me and stepping into my sandals before darting down the spiraled staircase and out the back door. Walking through the warm sand, I make my way to the water's edge, depositing my shoes beside a dead tree log and my towel resting upon it. Heading directly to the edge of the sand, I dip my toe in the water and find its temperature to my liking before walking into it. I giggle a little at its coolness in temperature before I am awash with its coldness, my giggles turning into delighted shrieks.

"Stop, stop," I admonish the waves, playfully, and it is then that I am gently returned to the shore. Perplexed, I step forward and dive in again, this time raising my arms. The water rises and falls with ease, returning me to the sand again. I raise my arms a second time, wondering what would happen if I attempted to move the water without touching it. The water moved along with my hands, copying their movements wave for wave, and I found myself shocked and amazed that such a thing could ever happen to someone like me. As I allow my imagination to run wild, I find that there are no limits whatsoever. I curl the waves before me into intricate patterns, spiraling them into a whirlpool of whatever suits my fancy, and find that I am a true artist of water.

"Ellyzab _ëth!" I hear from behind me then, and my blood runs cold at the thought of Dad's disapproval._

 _I drove the wave then and hastily turnabout, shaking, only to be greeted with a look of shock from my father rather than anger. I quickly follow his orders—come inside at once—and slip my shoes back on, ignoring the sand upon the bottoms of my feet, and drape my towel back around me. I keep my eyes lowered to my feet, watching them beneath me as I make my way back to the door of the house, slipping inside a moment before my father does. I go up the stairs, absorbing his words of going into my bedroom and taking a shower before changing, whereupon I will be expected in the living room to speak with him. Going into my bedroom, I quickly throw my towel into the hamper before heading into the en suite bathroom and taking off my wet suit and slipping into the hot shower._

 _After I am clean, I run a brush through my hair and clip it before returning to my bedroom and putting on a sun dress and different sandals. I go into the living room to see Dad sitting in his armchair, looking at the complex patterns on the rug beneath his black leather shoes. I perch on the edge of the massive couch opposite him, hands in my lap, and await his words. This can't be good, can it? Would I be sent away to a hospital for sickly children...? No, Dad wouldn't do that to me, surely...?_

 _"_ Ellyzab _ëth," Dad says, more calmly this time, "are you aware of why I brought you inside?"_

 _I nod then. "What I was doing... It's not normal," I say quietly. "I'm in trouble now, aren't I? Are you going to send me away, Dad?" I ask, my eyes quickly darting to his in a moment of fear._

 _My father looks at me in horror at my words. "Lyza, my goodness... No," he tells me, his face breaking into a grin. "No, no, it... What you were doing was perfectly normal, I think, my dear," he replies, puling something positioned between his leg and the arm of the chair. "This came for you," he tells me, getting to his feet and handing me a white envelope with curled letters upon it._

 _MISS_ ELLYZAB _ËTH RICCARDI, NORMALLY 1536 RICCARDI ROYALE, KENSINGTON, LONDON, YET NOW IS CURRENTLY STAYING AT 1 SCHRIEVER SHORE, EAST SUSSEX_ _, the letter stated. I raised my eyes to my father, confused, but he motioned for me to open the letter and, quickly, I did so, cutting my finger upon the expensive parchment._

 _"Lyza," Dad said, quickly moving to remedy the cut._

 _I smiled. "No need," I replied, running my finger over the injury and fixing it, much to his shock._

 _"You're a Healer," he breaths._

 _I blink. "A what?"_

 _He shakes his head. "Read the letter first..."_

 _Biting my lip, I lower my eyes to the letter again; the deep red seal having been broken, I push up the envelope opener and drag out the second piece of parchment and gaze upon it. The ink is green and slanted—the same person who had written my name and address obviously wrote the letter as well. "'Dear Miss Riccardi, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress'."

"There should be another piece of parchment inside there," Dad says softly, and nods to the letters' envelope, still opened in my lap.

I set aside the acceptance letter and pull out a second piece of parchment, just as Dad said, and looked it over.

Uniform:  
 _The quantity given are the suggested minimum requirements._

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3\. One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings)  
4\. Three white shirts for boys or blouses for girls  
5\. Two grey sweaters, vests or cardigans  
6\. Two charmable ties in house colours  
7\. One charmable winter scarf in house colours  
8\. Two pairs of trousers or shorts for boys, or skirts for girls  
9\. Three pairs of white knee socks or black wool stockings for girls, or grey knee socks or black ankle socks for boys.  
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

 **Required Text books**  
Hogwarts: A History by Chroniculus Punnet  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Tremble  
How Not To Blow Off Your Fingers On The First Day by Julius Gummidge  
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
Quidditch Through the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp  
Goshawk's Guide to Herbology by Miranda Goshawk  
The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk  
Hilary Stargazer's Guide to the Galaxy by Hilary Stargazer

 **Other Equipment:**  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales  
1 basic potions ingredients kit  
1 set of protective gloves  
Quills  
Inks  
Parchment  
Blank Journal

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

"What does this all mean, Dad?" I whisper then, raising my eyes to his, feeling my hand—still gripping the supply list—shaking. "I don't understand. They stated that they awaited my owl on the final day of July—we're well-into August right now, if I remember correctly..."

He sighs, shaking his head. "It's time you knew the truth about our family, Lyza," he says softly. He gets to his feet and comes to sit beside me. "I am from the Riccardi family, as you know, and they were a Pure-Blood family for many generations..."

"What's a Pure-Blood?" I demand.

Dad chuckles then. "Oh, dear. I'm going far too quickly, I see..." He sighs for the second time. "A Pure-Blood witch or wizard—witch for girl, wizard for boys—means that both of their parents were themselves Pure-Blood."

"And you're a Pure-Blood?" I ask him.

"No. I'm a Muggle-born wizard," he replies patiently. "My family _was_ Pure-Blood but for many generations, the sons of the family would marry Half-Bloods and Muggles and, as a direct result..."

"The Blood Status dwindled?" I ask him.

He nods. "Exactly. Your mother was a Pure-Blood, which makes you..."

"A Half-Blood?" I want to know.

"Correct," he tells me. "Neither your mother nor I knew of your abilities, my dear, so we thought you... We thought you were a Squib."

"A _Squib_?" I demand, not liking the sound of that word at all.

"A Squib, my dear girl, is a child born to wizarding parents who is not magical in any sense whatsoever," he tells me. "But you've proved me wrong—proved us all wrong. You're a Half-Blood witch, as evidenced by your little fun with the water earlier, as well as by your acceptance."

"Do we go shopping for this?" I ask him, remembering the many trips to various department stores I'd gone on with my mother every year before a new school term had begun.

He nods. "Oh, of course, my darling. You'll get to see one of the most wondrous places the Wizarding World has to offer—Diagon Alley."

"What's that?" I demand to know.

My father laughs. "You shall see," he promises me.

Three days later, after a short yet satisfying vacation up at the seaside cottage, I am most excited to journey to Diagon Alley with Dad. We are walking around a street in London where we'd often walked with Mum over the years, although Mum and I had frequented it far more often. I remembered quite frequently her being very preoccupied with a small inn-looking place in between a bookshop and a music shop, yet she'd forbade me from coming with her, acting like I couldn't see the place at all.

Dad led the way inside, shaking hands with various witches and wizards, all of whom greeted me heartily. Dad whispered to me that a young boy—my age exactly—called Harry Potter had walked through there only just moments ago, and had, therefore, greatly influenced their happiness. He wouldn't say why, as I was introduced to Tom, the proprietor, I did my best to remain polite. I followed Dad through the back door of the place, and was perplexed that we were standing in quite close proximity to rubbish bins, and the smell was terrible.

"Dad..."

"Yeah, Lyza?" he asks.

"Why are we standing by the bins?" I ask him, almost tempted to hold my nose due to the smell.

He chuckles then, and it is in that moment that he takes a rather thin stick out of his pocket. He taps the bricks of the wall in front of us in a series of places and soon the bricks dissolve before us and we find ourselves on a cobblestone road with numerous shops and things all around us. "Gringotts Wizarding Bank will be our first stop—got to get some galleons," he informs me.

"Galleons?" I demand.

"Currency—gold coin," he replies, and I hear the wall returning to its original form behind us. "Got to get money to buy your books and things."

We travel to an impressive white marble stone building and enter it, and I am quite shocked to see goblins working behind the cherry wood and white marble desk, stamping various documents and looking quite serious. We make our way to a desk where an impressive golden plaque reads GRIPHOOK and Dad steps forward. He gives our name and hands over a brilliant bronze key, and the goblin takes it, his fingers wrinkly and his nails long and curved. We are then taken down a hall and through a door where there are mine-like carts waiting for us and I am quite shocked when I am told to get in.

We ride down the tracks before stopping around two minutes later at Vault Four-Hundred-Ninety-Nine, whereupon it is unlocked and I am permitted to see inside the impressive thing. Piles of gold coins, various jewels, ancient artifacts and antiques, and a whole plethora of other treasures stare back at me. Dad gives Griphook an amount and the coins are counted and weighed before we are returned with sacks to the front of the bank before leaving out the front doors. Dad takes me to many stores that day, but the first most impressive one is Ollivander's Wand Shop, a marvelously dusty establishment that states that it was founded in 382 B.C., which surprises me to no end.

Dad and I step inside together and an elderly man with wispy silver hair pops his head out from behind a shelf riddled with boxes. He smiles kindly at Dad and steps forward, kindness in his eyes. He almost glides, this thin little man, and he seems as old as the wand shop itself.

"Ah, Theodore Riccardi," he says, taking my father's hand and shaking it. "11 ¾ inches, Ash, Unicorn Hair, pliable," he tells Dad with a chuckle. "Do tell me, my dear boy... How are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Dad replies, turning slightly over to me. "This is my daughter, Ellyzab _ëth."_

 _"Ah, another witch for the Riccardi family, well done, my boy," Mr. Ollivander replies with a contagious amount of joy. "Miss Riccardi, a pleasure to meet you at last, my dear."_

 _"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," I reply, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it gently. "An honor."_

 _"Let us find you a wand," he says, letting go of my hand when it is appropriate to do so and turning about to look at his various shelves. He takes a box from the second shelf up, about seven in, and opens it. He takes out the stick and smiles and nods, turning back to me. "9 ¾ inches, Hazel, Dragon Heartstring," he whispers, almost like a prayer, before handing it over. "Wave it, Miss Riccardi."_

 _Shrugging, I do so, and shatter a glass case behind him. "I'm so sorry!" I cry out then, horrified, setting the wand back inside its box._

 _Dad puts an arm around me. "Don't fear, darling," he replies._

 _"We'll get you another, Miss Riccardi," Mr. Ollivander says patiently, returning the wand in its box to its proper place and searching for another. "Maybe this one will give us better luck," he says, fetching a second box about three rows away from the first one. He opens the box, another wooden stick in his hands. "11 ½ inches, Spruce, Troll Whisker," he says, placing it in my hands, and nods for me to wave this wand._

 _I wave this wand, and, suddenly from across the room, no less than twelve separate shelves containing wands fall over. I am mortified, as I place the wand back inside its box, and dare to think of what will happen if I cannot get a wand for myself. I apologize again, but Mr. Ollivander won't think anything of it and immediately tidies up the room, all the while searching for another wand for me to try out on that morning._

 _"I knocked over no less than thirteen shelves and shattered_ _three_ _glass cases," Dad confides in me as Mr. Ollivander searches for another wand for me to try. "Don't worry—most of us get it on our third try."_

 _Mr. Ollivander then seems to have found a third wand for me to try and takes it up to the front and removes it from its box. "_ 10 ¾", Beech wood with Unicorn hair core, firm," he tells me softly, a little reluctant to his voice.

"Isn't Beech rare?" Dad asks.

"No," Mr. Ollivander replies, patiently. "They are for the few witches and wizards who are rich and understanding in their experience, especially for those wise beyond their years."

"You're making a mistake," I say softly. "I'm so sorry, sir... I've only known for three days, I don't think..."

Mr. Ollivander smiles. "Just try it, please, Miss Riccardi."

I sigh, knowing that it would be rude to decline a second time. Reaching out, I slowly take the wand from him, and feel a rush of something up my wrist and going straight to my heart. I remembered a word that Mum had said a few times when I wasn't listening, and I decided to try it now. "Accio gold plate," I say quietly, referring to a golden plate Mr. Ollivander had upon his desk.

Immediately, the plate flew to me at the perfect speed, and Dad and Mr. Ollivander looked shocked.

"How did you know that spell?" Dad wants to know.

"Mum," I reply.

Dad puts an arm around me. "She would've been very proud."

We pay the correct galleon amount for the wand before continuing to walk along the cobblestone path. I check over my list and see that we're finished, but Dad pulls me into the Magical Menagerie, and I see many different animals for sale there. Dad heads immediately for the owls, but I find myself drawn to the felines on the other side of the room. Walking amongst the cages, every one of them proceeds to call out to me, and my heart squeezes with regret that I cannot simply buy them all. Then, I spot a ginger kitten looking absolutely adorable, its green eyes flashing with intelligence, and I see that it is nine galleons. The sign tells me that this cat is a female and I know I must have her.

I turn to Dad, who is carrying an owl cage, and look at him, shocked.

"We need a new owl," Dad informs me, the screech owl looking perfectly miserable in its cage. "Think I'll call him Osmond. What did you find?" he asks, looking behind me to the ginger kitten. "Well. Isn't she lovely?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Would you like her?"

I giggle a bit then. "Yes, I think I would."

He nods then, lifting the cage down for me and I immediately take it as we make our way to the counter. Dad counts out twenty-four galleons—fifteen for his owl and nine for me—and we're allowed to depart soon thereafter. The ginger kitten looks more at ease now that she's out of the shop, and Dad says we'll return right home and get her and Osmond situated. We arrive home in good time and Dad tells me to put my clothes in the washing machine to make them ready before the trip and informs me to pack all my other items in my new trunk with the Hogwarts crest upon it.

I let the kitten out of her cage and, after she's explored her new surroundings, finds her way to my lap and remains there until supper. Then we give the little thing her own supper, and I find I cannot think of a name for her. Finally, I decide upon the _Scarlett_ , fully prepared to tell anyone who asks that it is _not_ for her fur color, but instead for Scarlett O'Hara from _Gone with the Wind_. Dad tells me I'll have to tell a great many people, but I find I don't mind as much.

I'm told to rest in the next several days and I do my best to listen, even though I'm quite excited for the days ahead. Finally, it is the first of September and Dad and I are up bright and early to get me to King's Cross Station, thirty minutes away. We have all my things loaded up and I'm in street clothes—Dad says that I can change on the train before the journey is over. We get me to King's Cross in good time and I'm quite perplexed that my ticket states Platform 9 ¾ but I don't say anything lest I disturb the peace. We make our way to Platforms 9 and 10 when suddenly Dad puts his hand upon my back and rushes me forward, towards the brick wall dividing the two platforms, and with a great _whoosh_ we're on the other side without hurting ourselves or others, and in an entirely new area.

"Feel free to speak freely now," Dad tells me as we step towards the impressive red train. He hands off my trunk to someone dressed in a train uniform and it is loaded into the luggage car. "Don't worry, Lyza," he says, looking down at me and Scarlett, who I've been permitted to keep with me upon the train, as well as my smaller trunk, containing my uniform. "You won't be alone for long. Besides, I know full well that you'll make plenty of—"

"Theo!" comes a shout through the crowd and a man, his wife, and three children come up behind him.

"Xander, my goodness!" Dad cries, throwing his arms around the blonde man who is around the same height as my father. "Isla, my dear!" Dad says next, hugging the man's wife. "And these can't be Yvonne and Noel..."

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Riccardi," the girl says; she is blonde-haired and blue-eyed just like her father. "Third year this year."

"Second year," the boy named Noel states, his hair brown and his eyes a lovely silver color.

"And this can't be Siobhan," Dad says, turning to the last girl, who has red hair just like her mother.

"Just starting, Mr. Riccardi," Siobhan says, turning to me with a smile. "Hi. You're Ellyzabëth, aren't you?

I nod. "Yeah. Nice to meet you," I say, putting out my hand, which is difficult due to Scarlett in my arms.

"You got a cat!" Siobhan cries, kneeling before the cage. She gently puts out her finger, whispering, "Hello there, you," and Scarlett nuzzles her in a most affectionate manner. "I got an owl—Thomasine," she says, nodding to the cage beside her, containing a quiet-looking barred owl. "What house are you hoping to be in?" Siobhan asks me in a curious manner.

I shrug. "Not sure yet. You?"

"Dad's a Gryffindor, Mum's a Ravenclaw," Siobhan explained patiently. "As for Yvonne, she got Hufflepuff and Noel's got Ravenclaw as well... Part of me thinks they want me to be in Slytherin so they can have a set of some kind... But I think I'll be in Gryffindor... What about your mum and dad?"

"Dad's a Ravenclaw," I reply patiently, "and Mum...she was a Gryffindor," I say, not wanting to dwell on the fact that I was probably one of the many entering Hogwarts students with a dead mother. "Dad's a Muggle-Born wizard, Mum was a Pure-Blood witch. Dad's family is one of the oldest wizarding ones around, apparently, but they successfully rid themselves of Blood Status to the point where almost all of them were Muggles. Dad and his twin sisters, Natalie and Isabella, are the first witches and wizards in two generations."

"What Houses were they sorted into, then?" Siobhan asks.

"Natalie was Hufflepuff and Isabella was Ravenclaw," I reply.

A whistle sounds overhead, and Dad says that means that we'll have to go inside and I quickly turn around to face him. He pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead before I walk onto the train, following Siobhan. I don't expect much but she pulls me into a compartment with her—one of the last free ones—and pulls the curtain to the massive window shut. She explains that we'd best change into our robes as soon as possible so as the trolley witch will be able to give us treats sooner rather than later. After a quick change, we release Scarlett and Thomasine, who are surprisingly content to rest upon my lap and the shelf attached to the window respectively. Siobhan pulls the curtains up just as the trolley witch appears, and we hand over the appropriate amount of galleons for chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts Every-Flavor Beans, and many other confections, all for around eleven sickles, another form of payment.

I found that Cauldron Cakes were my favorite, while Siobhan confided that her very favorites were Pumpkin Pasties. I am not a fan of pumpkin anything, although I did take a nibble of them—and a sip of Pumpkin Juice—just to be polite. I found everything else to be satisfactory, and discovered that cats are particularly fond of the stuff, so Scarlett was happily pampered throughout the journey. I would find myself alternating from gazing out at the impressive landscape as well as looking out into the hall at various witches and wizards about us. One girl—who Siobhan told me was a first-year Muggle-Born witch—with abnormally long, bushy brown hair traipsed up and down the hall of the train, almost as if she was searching for something she'd lost.

It was barely a quarter into our journey when a pitiful-looking boy knocked on our compartment door and I got to my feet, cradling Scarlett in my arms, and opened it and stared at him. "Hi," I said. "Hello," he said, hanging his head. "A friend of mine promised me a seat on the train but he lied about it..." He was dressed in his robes already, and, from the cut of them, they were the most expensive one's money could buy—the same quality of Siobhan's and mine. "Is there room in here for me, please?"

"No friend should do that," Siobhan declared, nodding. "Come in."

Immediately, a smile lit the boys' face, and he was quite handsome, I noticed right in that moment. A lift had been brought up from his shoulders as he came into our compartment as I shut the door behind him, and he sat beside me. He proceeded to stroke Scarlett, who migrated from my lap into his.

"Got an animal?" I asked, curious.

He nods then, opening the jacket of his robe, a small black cat emerging. "This here is Midnight," he tells me. "She's a rare breed of black cat who can't grow very much—runt of the litter, I'm afraid—and nobody would take her. She was just so sweet in the Magical Menagerie that I couldn't just leave her there." He smiled as Scarlett and Midnight touched noses, seemed at ease with one another, and Midnight moved from inside the boys' jacket into my arms.

"What's your name?" Siobhan asked him.

He raised his blue eyes to Siobhan. "Charles Kendrick," he replies politely. "Mum and Dad are very proud of us being Pure-Blood and all, but I could care less. The Kendrick's hail from Scotland," he explains, which justifies his accent, "while that is all well and good, I couldn't care less about Blood Status."

"Pure-Blood," Siobhan tells him, putting out her hand, "Siobhan Sterling. How do you do?"

"And who are you?" Charles asks, after greeting Siobhan.

"Ellyzabëth Riccardi," I reply, "Half-Blood, although my mum was Pure-Blood and my father was born into a wizarding family, Dad and his older twin sisters were the first wizards in fifty years..." I shrug. "We say Half-Blood, although I'm not quite sure what we really are."

For the duration of the journey, Siobhan, Charles, and I all get better-acquainted with one another, speaking of our families, being magical, and our animals. As it gets darker along the tracks, Siobhan tells us that we're nearly there. We gather our things as the Hogwarts Express pulls into the station, and immediately follow the rest of the first-years into groups onto the platform. A giant greets us all, telling us to follow him and not to be shy, and holds a massive lantern in his hands. He leads us from the platform to the waters' edge, where Siobhan, Charles, and I get into tiny boats, each with our own lanterns, and see a brilliantly-lit castle on the other side of the lake.

We're ushered off the boats by the giant—who I've heard is called Hagrid—and make our way up the impressive stone steps and inside the main doors. Each of us is garbed in various states of black, white, and gray, and we are careful not to trip over one another as we head up the steps. I spot a witch staring down at us with a no-nonsense expression, and as we journey up the steps to meet her, I see that she seems to have a kind, yet authoritative air about her. I can also see that she commands respect, as we all seem to immediately quiet down in her presence, and I wonder what she has to say.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the witch says. "Now, in a few moments, you'll walk through these doors and join your classmates, but before we do that, you must be sorted into your Houses. There are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," she says, almost if that House is an afterthought, her tone suddenly going from neutral to severe. "Now, while you're here, each House will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you House points. Any rule-breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup."

"Trevor!" shouts a boy from the second row back, and darts forward, making a grab for a toad located just near the witches' feet. The woman stares at the boy, who I'm told is called Neville Longbottom, and the boy looked appropriately ashamed at disturbing her. "Sorry," he says, falling back in line.

"The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily," the witch states before going into the Great Hall behind her.

"It's true then, what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts," says a perfectly nasty-looking boy, who is standing to the left, and who appears to have draped himself along the marble bannister. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle," the boy says, nodding to his friends beside him, "and I'm Malfoy... Draco Malfoy," he introduces himself, going up to a boy in the middle of the first row of students. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand me down robe? You must be a Weasley," he sneers at the boy directly next to Harry Potter. "Well soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. Don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there," he says, almost eagerly, putting out his hand.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," the boy called Harry Potter replies just as the witch returns.

She taps Draco Malfoy upon the shoulder with a scroll she carries, and Malfoy glares at Harry before drifting back to his space. The witch gives a pleased smile to all of us before stating, "We are ready for you now," and leads us into the Great Hall, where a great number of students at long tables gaze at us as we drift between them. Raising my eyes upwards, I can make out the sky, which looks just like the starry night we just left. I hear a girl—the one who appeared to be looking for something on the train—telling someone that the sky is not real, and that it is merely bewitched. I ignore her comment, listening to the witch as she tells us to wait along the stairs at the opposite end of the hall, a stool places in the center of things, an old hat placed upon it. She then states that Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words.

"Headmaster," Siobhan whispers to me, and Charles nods.

Dumbledore, an elderly wizard in beautiful robes, rises to his feet and commands attention, just as the witch had done earlier. "I have a few start of term notices I wish to announce. The first-years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you."

"When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses." The witch then proceeds to call name after name—the first one being the girl on the train, whose name is Hermione Granger, who is sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy is put in Slytherin, while Harry and Ron are sorted into Gryffindor as well. Then, when Charles and Siobhan take their turns, they get into Gryffindor. Finally, I feel myself quake in my shoes when she says, "Ellyzabëth Riccardi."

Walking towards the stool, I sit down upon it, gripping its edges until my knuckles turn white. Bracing myself as the hat is put upon my head. "Intelligent far beyond her years—Ravenclaw would suit you greatly..."

"No." I find myself shocked that I open my mouth to defy the hat. But I cannot go to Ravenclaw; I was not merely intelligent. "I'm not just smart," I reply.

"Hufflepuff?" the hat asks.

I sigh. "I'm not nice enough," I confess.

The had laughs then. "Slytherin, then?" it wants to know.

"Not evil, purely," I tell it.

"Ah, then, I see you've made up your mind, then," the hat says. "Gryffindor!" the hat shouts and—just as it had happened when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sorted—the whole of the Gryffindor table gets to their feet and claps in enthusiasm and I'm permitted to get off the stool and to join them.

I eagerly take a seat beside Siobhan, relief flooding through me then. I'd done it—I'd been sorted. Taking after Mum, I thought of her as the rest of the students were sorted and then we were permitted the lavish meal, which suddenly appeared on the golden plates before us. Dad hadn't been a cook, so in the year since Mum had died, I'd dramatically lost weight. Now as thin as a reed, I found myself perfectly starving, and ate as much as I possibly could—the roast chicken was something, I felt, I'd remember forever. As the evening went on, I became more and more aware of a fourth-year Gryffindor girl staring at me, and I couldn't think why. She had black hair and green eyes, and I remembered thinking that her eyes reminded me of Scarlett's eyes; Scarlett! I knew I'd forgotten something... She'd probably wandered off somewhere...

At the end of the feast, Percy Weasley, our prefect and elder brother of Ron, lead us upstairs to the Gryffindor common room, informing us that our trunks had already been brought up to our dorms and that they'd been unpacked. Siobhan and I said goodnight to Charles while we went upstairs with Hermione and the other firsy-year girls—including the one who'd been staring at me through dinner. I was quick about changing into my pijamas as quite soon, it was time for lights' out, and I found I was quite eager to be going to sleep.


End file.
